


The Warning

by Brightbear



Series: The Limitations of Evil [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Resident Evil: Apocalypse (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightbear/pseuds/Brightbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The term bio-weapon was one that Jim understood enough only to know that he didn't want to know any more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warning

**Author's Note:**

> Much gratitude to my Beta, YR. Any remaining mistakes are mine alone.

Jim Gordon stood on the roof of City Hall, one leg braced against the railing and the Gotham stretching out beneath him. In recent months it had become his new haunt. His previous post had been the roof of the Major Crime Unit, one of his most tangible achievements and a living reminder that change for the better could be achieved in a city as corrupt as Gotham. Jim's promotion to Police Commissioner had been more of a double-edged sword than a favour; it weighted him with the constant burden of handling politics and bureaucracy, and much of it had to be done in City Hall in person. Whenever Jim's tolerance for the politicians had reached his limit, he'd make a tactical retreat to the rooftop - so far, nobody had disturbed him here.

The view from City Hall had some advantages; it was taller than the MCU, presented a new angle of the city, and there was no shattered bat-signal to prick at his conscience - it also wasn't the target of any surveillance to find the wanted vigilante.  
"Racoon City," rasped a voice.  
The Batman was regarding him with a steady gaze. Jim spent a moment taking the man in, relieved after a complete lack of contact in the last three weeks. The Batman's expression was unreadable as ever - at least the status quo had been maintained.  
"Racoon City?" echoed Jim, trying to think of any cases which might have warranted the Batman's involvement.  
"You've heard the official explanation for it," said the Batman, because he rarely phrased anything as a question.  
"I heard it was an accident," said Jim, stepping away from the railing.  
"Official explanation was an accident at a nuclear power plant that levelled the city," said Batman. "But it was also claimed that a bio-weapon was accidentally released into the city and the explosion was an attempt to contain it."

The term bio-weapon was one that Jim understood enough only to know that he didn't want to know any more. He grimaced and looked out at Gotham.  
"Even if you have reason to believe there was a coverup," said Jim, resettling his glasses out of habit. "Don't you think it's a little out of our jurisdiction?"  
"I'm more concerned by rumours that the containment wasn't successful."  
Jim pulled his glasses off and wiped the lenses more vigorously than necessary. He liked the sound of that even less.  
"Two people accused the Umbrella Corporation of orchestrating the coverup," said Jim. "They're still wanted by the FBI, for allegedly making false accusations."  
"I'll look into it," said Batman. "But Gotham needs to be ready, if worst comes to worst."  
"I'll see to it that preparations are made," promised Jim, slipping his glasses back on.  
When he looked up again he was alone on the rooftop. Jim sighed and leaned against the railing once more. Gotham faced enough problems fighting its own corruption on a daily basis. The corruption of outsiders was yet another burden that it didn't need to face.

* * *

Jim let himself into his darkened apartment, tired and fighting to keep his eyelids open. His overcoat weighed his shoulders down as if there were rocks in the pockets. He shut and locked the door behind him, and was already shrugging one shoulder out of his coat before he'd set his briefcase on the floor. He hung his coat on the hook, turned on the living room light and took two steps into the room before he froze. It was a small apartment, still half-full of unpacked boxes from when he'd moved in after his divorce. Nothing obvious seemed amiss but Jim knew with absolute certainty that someone else had been there. He inched a hand towards his hip, slowly unclipping his holster. He was wrapping a hand around the grip of his handgun when an unfamiliar figure moved in from the shadows of the kitchen. It wasn't Batman.

There was a pale face standing out from the shadows that accentuated the curves of bare shoulders and a fitted corset. It was the kind of racy attire that Jim usually associated with teenage girls the same age as his daughter (but not his daughter directly, whom he liked to think had more class). She was wearing thigh holsters and had a professional arrogance to her stance that revised his age estimate upwards considerably.  
"Commissioner Gordon," she said, and it wasn't a question.  
Jim didn't bother to answer. There was only one surprise visitor who was welcome in Jim's home and she wasn't it. He didn't draw his weapon but he didn't take his hand off the grip either. He fixed her with a look which conferred his exhaustion and complete lack of patience.  
"And you are?" he asked flatly.  
She looked unimpressed but at least she gave him a second look, reassessing.

A deep voice rumbled from the shadows behind Gordon; "Commissioner."  
Only years of practice prevented Jim from physically jumping in surprise. As it was, his heart seemed to be pounding loud enough to be heard down the street. He was smugly satisfied to see the woman's eye twitch. Jim turned to look at Batman, narrowing his eyes.  
"She's with you, I take it," said Jim dryly.  
The Batman didn't answer but Jim still sensed the amusement. He was getting better at reading the Bat.  
"Commissioner," rasped the Batman. "I'd like you to meet Jill Valentine, formerly of the Racoon City Police Department."  
That name was familiar because Jim had been reading it in reports that same morning. He was aware that Batman had not explicitly introduced her as a friend.  
"The same Jill Valentine currently wanted by the FBI?" he asked pointedly.

Real anger cracked the woman's composure and she stepped forward, shaking a finger at Jim.  
"On false charges," she growled, almost good enough to mimic Batman himself.  
"Of course," said Jim, making his tone as patronising as possible.  
"We tried to do the right thing, to warn people of the danger. The Umbrella Corporation made scapegoats of us to stop the truth getting out," said Valentine, stepping even further out of the shadows. "A truth that killed my entire city. Do you know how many millions of people died?"

Jim took his hand off his gun and undid his tie. Valentine's furious gaze followed him as he took off his suit jacket. Puzzlement was beginning to take over from the anger by the time Jim was hanging his jacket up beside his coat.  
"I've heard a number," said Jim.  
Behind him he heard what might have been a dry sob. He waited a few more seconds before turning around, giving Valentine time. It wasn't really him she was angry at.

Valentine had retreated back into the shadows in the kitchen, now looking more bitter than angry.  
"You have proof of this bioweapon?" asked Jim, deciding that it was time to get down to business. "And that the Umbrella Corporation manufactured it?"  
Valentine grimaced, "Didn't help us much. We sent footage to the media. Less than a week later we were wanted by the FBI."  
"We?"  
"There weren't many survivors but there were some," said Valentine grudgingly. "We're all on the run now. I don't know where the others are."  
"Is that why you're here?"  
"No. I came because... I've seen signs of infection, outside of Racoon City. It's spreading towards Gotham. I thought I could beat it here."

Jim looked to Batman, who'd been curiously silent. Jim had expected an objection to his less-than-friendly interrogation and the lack of one made him curious. Was Batman trusting Valentine to hold her own? Or was he looking for a second opinion on her integrity?  
"Something's happening on the outskirts of Gotham," said Batman. "I'm looking into it but if the infection has already reached here, the response cannot be delayed for a criminal investigation."  
"It's the T-virus," said Valentine. "It's here."  
"I can put more patrol cars on the street and notify the hospitals to be on alert," said Jim, turning to locate a pen and paper. "How is it transmitted? Is it airborne? Oh, and I'll need a list of symptoms to give the doctors."  
"Transmissions is from direct contact with an infected person or animal," said Valentine, as Jim began to sketch out notes. "Infected people turn violent and will bite, spreading the infection further. From what we can tell, the virus takes about a day to incubate."

Jim made a note to make unofficial contact with the Centre for Disease Control. He perched on the arm of the couch and waved for Valentine to continue.  
"Physical symptoms include glazed, milky eyes, discoloured skin..." Valentine swallowed before ploughing quickly on. "And re-animation of dead tissue."  
Jim stopped his pen in mid-scratch and raised his eyes slowly. He felt a headache coming on.  
"Re-animation of dead tissue?" he echoed mildly.  
Valentine looked back sullenly, braced for a confrontation.  
"The T-virus was designed to repair damaged spinal tissue," she said. "Then it was modified as a bio-weapon."  
"Modified how?" asked Jim, licking his lips.

"Do I look like a microbiologist?" she snapped.  
Jim refrained from answering that question. The corner of his mouth gave a valiant twitch of amusement before it succumbed to exhaustion and the faint throb of a headache.  
"What kinds of tissue?" asked Jim. "Old scars and injuries? That sort of thing?"  
"Try entire people," said Valentine.

If nothing else, Jim was impressed that she managed to keep a straight face. He put down the pen and paper on the coffee table.  
"I'm sorry?" inquired Jim politely.  
"The virus raises the dead," said Valentine.  
Jim hoped he was wrong about her not having a sense of humour. He turned to Batman, finding the Bat watching Jim carefully - assessing his reaction. Jim was grateful he hadn't given in to the impulse to laugh.

"Do you believe this?" asked Jim carefully, watching the Bat's expression for any flicker to the contrary.  
"I have not seen direct proof," rasped the Batman.  
A subtle tightening of the eyes gave Jim the impression that this was a matter of contention.  
"But," continued Batman. "I have heard similar descriptions from multiple sources. There is a contagion and it is heading towards Gotham."  
Jim considered for a moment.

He turned to Valentine.  
"All right," he said. "Assuming I believe you, what precautions would be needed?"  
"The bodies of anyone infected need to be destroyed," said Valentine. "Before the incubation period is complete."  
"Destroyed?" blinked Jim. "How? And, more importantly, how do I explain that to the grieving relatives?"  
"You explain that it's a necessary precaution to save lives," said Valentine. "I'd recommend incinerating the bodies but beheading can work in a pinch. You'll also have to tell your officers to aim for the head."

"Aim for the head?" asked Jim faintly, wondering when he'd lost the ability to speak independently.  
"If they encounter any of the infected walking around - and they're fairly obvious," said Valentine. "They should aim for the head."  
"No," said Jim firmly. "Absolutely not. The Gotham Police have enough problems without my officers shooting stumbling drunks between the eyes."  
"If you hesitate, it could mean the difference between saving and losing Gotham," warned Valentine. "That's thirty million lives."  
"Those thirty million lives are not your responsibility," said Jim.  
"No," said Valentine, moving past Jim to his front door. "But I hope for their sake, that you make the right decision."  
She slipped out his front door and was gone. Jim turned to Batman, only to realise he was alone in his apartment. He hoped he made the right decision too.

* * *

Jim was washing dishes with tired efficiency. His hands knew the motions so it didn't matter if his eyes were blurry with exhaustion. It was his own fault for neglecting the pile of dirty dishes so long. Jim's battered little TV had been running late night commercials since the baseball game finished, filling the small living room with flickering light and a low hum of noise. Jim's glasses slipped down his nose and he pushed them back up with soapy fingers.

Nothing in the room changed but Jim knew that Batman was there. It raised an odd sensation in Jim's chest - this was the second time in a month that Batman had actually come inside rather than lurking on Jim's porch. Meeting out of sight was smart in a city still officially searching for the masked vigilante. Still, there was a shadow of a doubt in Jim's mind that it might mean something else. He really was tired.

"New developments?" Jim queried over his shoulder.  
The movement was silent but Jim felt the warm breath exhaled against his neck. Jim closed his eyes, savouring the way his skin tingled. Batman was behind him, as solid and untouchable as he ever was.  
"It's real," said Batman.  
Jim bit down on the urge to ask if he was sure. The Batman was always sure.

Instead, Jim asked, "How long do we have?"  
Batman was silent, not hesitating but calculating.  
"Three weeks at the most," said Batman. "Probably less."  
Jim let himself sigh, a brief moment of weakness before the work began. A gloved hand came to rest on his shoulder and squeezed once before letting go.  
"I'll do what I can," promised Gordon.  
Gordon didn't know for sure when Batman had left but a chill settled over his heart and told him he was alone. Jim stood at the sink until the water got cold, savouring the memory of fingers on his shoulder and air on his neck. He would wait until the morning to face the reality that his city would likely never be the same again.

The End


End file.
